Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

I wasn't so sure about that.

Bob continued, "We have contacted every overseas law enforcement and intelligence agency for anything they may have on this Asad Khalil. We've sent his fingerprints out as well as photographs. But so far-and this is early innings-no one seems to have anything on him, other than what you've read in the dossier. This man seems to have no contacts among known extremist organizations here or anywhere in the world. He is a lone wolf, but we know he couldn't pull off this stuff by himself. Therefore, we think he is being run directly by Libyan Intelligence, who are heavily influenced by the old KGB. The Libyans trained him, financed him, sent him on a few European missions to see what he was made of, then concocted this plan where Khalil would turn himself in to the American Embassy in Paris. As you know, there was a similar defection in February, which we believe was a dry run."

Jack Koenig reminded Bob, "The ATTF in New York delivered this February defector to the FBI and the CIA here in Washington, and someone let him walk away."

Bob replied, "I have no firsthand knowledge of that, but that's correct."

Jack pressed on, "If the February guy hadn't gotten away, the April guy-Khalil-would never have arrived the way he did."

"That's true," Bob said. "But I assure you, he would have arrived one way or another."

Koenig asked, "Do you have any leads on the February defector? If we could find him-"

"He's dead," Bob informed us. "The Maryland State Police reported a burned and decomposed body found in the woods outside of Silver Spring. No ID, no clothes, fingerprints burned, face burned. They called the FBI Missing Persons, who in turn knew that the Counter-terrorist section had a missing defector. Our tattoos did not survive, but we were able to match the dental imprints to the imprints we took of this guy while he was our guest in Paris. So, that's that."

No one spoke for a few seconds, then Jack said, "No one told me about that."

Bob replied, "You should take that up with the Deputy Director in charge of Counterterrorist operations."

"Thank you."

Bob concluded with, "Meanwhile, we have legitimate Libyan defectors here and in Europe, and we're questioning them about any knowledge they may have of Asad Khalil. Libya is a country of only five million people, so we may turn up something about Khalil, if that's his real family name. So far, we haven't learned anything about Asad Khalil from emigres or defectors. However, we do know that a man named Karim Khalil, a Libyan who held the rank of Army captain, was murdered in Paris in nineteen eighty-one. The Surete tells us that Karim Khalil was probably murdered by his own people, and the Libyan government tried to pin it on Mossad." Bob continued, "The French believe that Moammar Gadhafi was the lover of Captain Khalil's wife, Faridah, and that's why Gadhafi got rid of him." Bob smiled and said, "But I emphasize that is a French explanation. Cherchez la femme."

We all chuckled. Those crazy Frenchmen. Everything had to do with boom, boom, boom.

Bob continued, "We're trying to determine if Asad Khalil is related to Captain Karim Khalil. Asad is old enough to be Karim's son or maybe nephew. But even if we establish a relationship, that may not be significant to this case."

I suggested, "Why don't we ask the news media to put out that story about Mr. Gadhafi and Mrs. Khalil, and Gadhafi getting rid of Karim Khalil to make his love life easier. Then, if Asad is Karim's son, he'll read this or hear it on the news, and he'll go home and kill Gadhafi-his father's killer. That's what a good Arab would do. The blood feud. Right? Wouldn't that be great?"

Bob thought a moment, cleared his throat and said, "I'll pass that along."

Ted Nash picked up the ball, as I knew he would. He said, "That's actually not a bad idea."

Bob was clearly out of his depth with this kind of thinking. He said, "Let's find out first if a family relationship exists. This kind of… psychological operation could well backfire. But we'll put it on the agenda for the next Counterterrorism meeting."

Jean spoke and introduced herself by another name. She said, "My responsibility in this case is to review all of the cases in Europe that we believe Asad Khalil was connected to. We don't want to duplicate the work of the CIA-" she nodded to Super-Agent Nash "-but now that Asad Khalil is here, or was here, the FBI needs to familiarize themselves with Khalil's overseas activities."

Jean went on, talking about interservice cooperation, international cooperation, and so forth.

Clearly, Asad Khalil, who had been no more than a suspected terrorist, was now the most wanted terrorist in the world since Carlos the Jackal. The Lion had arrived. The Lion, I was certain, was absolutely thrilled and flattered by all the attention. What he had done in Europe, bad as it was, did not make him a major player in today's world of headline-grabbing terrorism. Certainly he had not come to the attention of the American public in a big way. His name had never been mentioned in the news; only his deeds had been reported, and the only one that caused a stir, as far as I could recall, was the murder of the three American kids in Belgium. Soon, when the true story broke of what happened yesterday, Asad Khalil's photo would be everywhere. This would make life outside Libya difficult for him, which was why a lot of people thought he'd run home. But I thought he would like nothing better than beating us at his game on our home field.

Jean concluded her talk with, "We'll stay closely in touch with the ATTF in New York. All information will be shared by us with you, and by you with us. Information is like gold in our business-everyone wants it, and no one wants to share it. So let's say that we're not sharing-we're borrowing from one another, and all accounts will be settled at the end."

I really couldn't resist a zinger, and I said, "Ma'am, you have my assurance that if Asad Khalil turns up dead in the woods in Central Park, we'll let you know."

Ted Nash laughed. I was beginning to like this guy. In this milieu, we had more in common with each other than we had in common with the nice and neat people in this building. There's a depressing thought.

Bob asked us, "Any questions?"

I asked, "Where do the X-Files people hang out?"

Koenig said, "Stow it, Corey."

"Yes, sir."

Anyway, it was nearly 6:00 P.M., and I figured we were through since we weren't told to bring toothbrushes. But no, we all moved to a big conference room with a table the length of a football field.

About thirty people drifted in, most of whom we'd already met today at various stations of the cross.

The Deputy Director of Counterterrorism made an appearance, gave a five-minute sermon, then ascended to heaven or somewhere.

We spent almost two hours in conference, mostly rehashing the ten-hour day, exchanging gold nuggets, and coming up with a plan of attack, and so forth.

Each of us got a thick dossier containing photos, contact names and numbers, and even recaps of what was said today, which must have been tape-recorded, transcribed, edited, and typed as the day progressed. Truly, this was a world-class organization.

Kate was kind enough to put all my papers in her attaché case, which now bulged. She advised me, "Always bring an attaché case. There are always handouts." She added, "An attaché case is a tax-deductible item."

The big conference ended, and everyone filed out into the corridor. We did a little chitchat here and there, but basically it was over. I could almost smell the air on Pennsylvania Avenue. Car, airport, 9:00 P.M. shuttle, 10:00 P.M. at La Guardia, home before the 11 o'clock news. I remembered some leftover Chinese food in the fridge and tried to determine how old it was.